The Undying Lands
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: The experiences of arrivals in Eldamar, from Erestor's arrival with the Ring-bearers to Celebrimbor's arrival at the Halls of Mandos and Glorfindel's second arrival in the West.
1. The Long Home of Eldamar

_September 3021 TA_

Erestor stood at the starboard gunwale, holding the rail and looking out over the sea. Well, there was nothing else to be looking out over, or at. There was nothing at all but sea. He wasn't entirely sure that he would ever again see anything but sea. It wouldn't surprise him.

No one else on board seemed the least bit bothered, of course. At least, not by their environs. Most of those sailing had crossed the sea before or had sailing in their blood or were just the adventurous type. Erestor had none of those advantages. Nor did he have the certitude that this crossing would take him to the one thing he had yearned for over the millennia. He had not even the company of his dearest friend to reassure him.

Quite naturally, the parting at Mithlond had been heart-aching for all involved. A number had come along to farewell those departing, including some whose decision to go or stay on that occasion was unknown until the moment of boarding. All knew that the Twins weren't yet planning to leave Middle Earth, but even they had yet to determine if they ever would. Their indecision was growing more pressing with their father's leave-taking, but they still had some while. Celeborn, too, would be remaining for a time to help facilitate the last days of Middle Earth Elvendom. There were those Elves who had no intention of ever going to Eldamar and elected to stay forever a part Ennor, content with their fate to become like the whisper of falling leaves in the forests.

It was plain that the youngest Hobbits did not know that it wasn't only the eldest of them who was leaving until Frodo turned to embrace his dear friends. The Elves gathered there silently stepped away a bit to give them privacy for their parting. That was when Erestor picked up his pack and started toward the gangplank, saying to Glorfindel, "Come along, we might as well settle in for the journey."

Glorfindel laid a hand on Erestor's arm and gave the slightest shake of his head.

"Whatever do you mean?" Erestor frowned.

"I'm not taking this journey with you, my friend," Glorfindel said softly. "I will see you again, but now is not the time for me to come."

"Not coming? But… what shall I do… who shall I…. You might have said before now, you great, awful toad!"

Glorfindel's laughter, as always, was light and musical.

_How dare he?!_ Erestor thought. Were they not friends all these years? Glorfindel might be the Great Golden Obnoxion but he was also meant to be Erestor's closest companion. He might laugh in the face of Balrogs and Nazgul, but this! This was the worst thing Erestor had faced since the day his very Elven soul was rent asunder at the death of his other half and his grief unable to give him the mercy of death likewise! How could even this witless warrior be insensitive to that?

Glorfindel's easy smile softened at the hurt on Erestor's brow and he pulled Erestor into a hug. "It is very simply that I am not yet called to return, dearest friend. I am meant to stay here a little longer, to work with the twins and our Estel and Arwen and Lord Celeborn and, Valar help me, even King Thranduil and Prince Legolas. Our days have ended, but I need not tell you that transitions do not occur all -"

"What will I do, Glorfindel, if he's not…. If I should be forced to face my greatest fear, without the one ally who knows how this shall wound me?"

"You will not be alone, that much I can say. Erestor… this one fear has governed you all these days. I cannot say that it will not come to pass, though I feel it to be quite unlikely. But should it, you shall find that you have a task to wrest control of it, to master it and either dispel it or make use of it. You may have many counsels to take from those who are far more wise and beneficial than I might ever be in these matters."

"I did not befriend you for your wisdom or utility," Erestor scowled. "I should have had a poor return on my investment had I done. That you should leave me to face this unaided…."

"I serve at the pleasure of my Lord Nämo, Erestor," Glorfindel said apologetically. "Please, let us not part with bitterness. All things are so for a reason, and there will surely be one for your taking this path without me."

Erestor's scowl had dampened to a pout by then. There wasn't much he could say against Glorfindel's words, after all, and of course he did not wish them to part on poor terms. "I still think you a toad," he muttered. "And I daresay I shall be having some strong words for this Lord Nämo. He's never been a very good patron to me."

Glorfindel couldn't help laughing again. Surely many had reason to hold a grudge against the Lord of Mandos over the ages, but Glorfindel wouldn't doubt for a moment that only Erestor o Eregion would dare giving the Doomsman of the Valar a piece of his mind.

"I, too, shall miss you very sorely," Glorfindel said, pulling Erestor into a hug again. "I cannot see myself sitting up long through the night, dispatching a bottle of cordial over philosophy, politics, and gossip with Elrohir or matching wits with Thranduil unless they be engraved on a length of steel."

"At least the thought of you suffering Thranduil's company shall comfort me," Erestor snarked. "But… be sure to bring a case of cordial when you do sail, please? I know not what they serve in Valinor. Mayhap I shall find all to be bitter there."

"Ai. A case of cordial, and as many barrels of Dorwinion as I can sneak out of the Greenwood. Which, if the past is any indication of the future, should be an entire ship-full. At least."

"If your remaining here must accomplish something, Glorfindel," Erestor said as softly as he could, "let it be that you convince the twins to make the crossing when you do. I hate to think of Elrond and Celebrian sundered from all of their children eternally."

"I shall do my best," Glorfindel nodded, stepping back. "Fair winds, my friend, until at last I, too, am called home."

And so now Erestor stood, alone, his heart dreading what lay ahead and missing the only home he'd ever known. He felt isolated, useless, suspended, belonging nowhere and to no one… dispossessed.

"You don't look… comforted," said a small voice beside Erestor.

Erestor glanced down at the young Halfling. "I'm leaving everything I once knew," Erestor said, fixing his eyes again on the horizon. "And I alone have no promise of succor in the West." After a moment, Erestor sighed. "You do not wish to hear this tale of my long wretchedness, pheriain."

"Are there any who tell tales of long happiness?" Frodo said with a dry smile.

Erestor almost laughed, for this Hobbit answered so much like an Elf. No wonder he was accorded a place on this voyage! "I would have," Erestor murmured. "Had my happiness but been long."

Frodo just put a hand atop Erestor's. He didn't know what Elrond's chief counselor could have lived through that made him despair so of finding peace even in the Undying Lands, and clearly the Elf didn't wish to speak of it, but Frodo thought that if nothing else, at least he could offer support.

For a long while they stood there, listening to Elrond and Lindir playing their harps. For how many centuries had Erestor seen that silver harp in Elrond's sitting room and never once saw him pick it up. But now, since the day they had departed the Last Homely House, Elrond had hardly put it down. Lord and defender no more, Elrond was at ease, and played music so sweetly that Erestor grieved all the years Elrond had not played. Eventually, Erestor realized whom it was that had taught Elrond the art of music and he supposed that even the silver harp itself might have been a gift from Maglor.

"Do you know how long the journey should last?" Frodo asked at length.

Erestor shook his head apologetically. "I know nothing of sea-travel. I think I shall take my rest below decks this night, though," Erestor said. "It looks like rain."

* * *

It was at dawn that the fabled white shores came into sight from the ship's deck. Everyone aboard could hear the welcoming songs of the Elves who awaited their beloved kin and long-missed friends. The travellers all stood together on the deck as they drew nearer to the quay, all feeling the relief and joy of imminent reunions and ages-old cares washed away in the sweet, twilit breezes of Valinor.

All but the Elf clad in sable who stood aft-ward, his brow creased and heart stretched tight like a bowstring.

The gangplank was set and Elves began to descend, welcomed warmly to their long-home by all those gathered on the quay. Mithrandir accompanied the two Halflings, shepherding them so that they didn't wander too far off-course in this new, wild and wondrous place before he could make important introductions. Elrond and Galadriel deboarded together into the waiting embrace of Celebrian who once again looked every bit as radiant and thriving as she had on her wedding day.

Erestor was last to leave the ship and he had not the heart to look too closely at those who had gathered on the quay and by the shore. His heart felt leaden and by force of will alone did he suppress tears. How could he spoil the rapturous reunions going on all about him with his anguish? If he could just move by them unmarked, perhaps he could avoid their company long enough to pull himself together. If only Glorfindel were here to lend a comforting shoulder for his sorrow….

Up ahead, Erestor saw Ereinion and quickly detoured – let him greet his old herald first – and made his way passed Mithrandir and the Halflings. Well… that _had_ been Mithrandir when they left the ship, at any rate. He supposed Olórin it must be now, for the wizened wizard was suddenly looking considerably more youthful. A magnificent lady in a hooded mantel of sapphire blue approached and Olórin bowed most solemnly.

"Dearest Olórin," Erestor heard her say softly, with as many tears as Celebrian had for her mother and husband. "But where is the other who has been so beloved of me?"

"It is Master Erestor you seek, my Lady," Olórin said, just loud enough to stop Erestor in his tracks.

Erestor had no idea who could be seeking him and turned, looking to the face of the tall, hooded lady, wondering if it was someone he'd known long ago. As he did, he quickly fell to his knees and bowed his head, realizing that he was in the presence of a Vala in Elda-form.

"My dear, bereft child, so long you have borne with such a great sadness…. When I heard of your arrival, I left my far dwelling that I might tell you that you've ever had my pity, even in times when you felt forsaken by all."

Erestor, however, did not raise his head, but kept it bowed as his tears no longer remained hidden. "My gratitude for your taking my part must seem very meagre, O great Lady Nienna," Erestor whispered. "I assure you it is not so. It is only that… I have long feared that I should find no solace here, and now I am come… all that I longed for…." Erestor found it impossible to speak for his grief and he was lifted to his feet and wrapped in the cloaked arms of the Vala herself.

"Oh, sad child!" Nienna murmured. "All that you have longed for awaits you here. Come, and let your many tears be tonic for deep wounds." The Lady turned and led Erestor away from the quay toward a path that came down from the Calacirion. Erestor had no idea where she could be leading him, then she simply stopped and inclined her head toward the path. Was he meant to -?

Then Erestor realized that coming along the path was someone who stopped and looked in the direction of the Lady Vala for a long moment, seeming frozen in place. Then something seemed to shift, the ache inside him that had become a dulled throb over the ages flared like fire again. Erestor had intended to turn to the Lady, to ask if that was who he thought, and if he really had the permission of Valar to go to him, but as the other broke into a run, Erestor abandoned all thought and ran too.

Erestor and Celebrimbor crashed into one another's arms so hard it was a wonder they didn't do each other an injury. They weren't even two individuals in that moment, but one entity of soul-deep sobs, awash with tears, desperately clashing kisses, and arms that fought with all their might to hold closer, tighter, forever. Erestor wailed out centuries of grief against Celebrimbor's broad shoulder, unable to express himself in any articulate way. Celebrimbor fared no better, only holding Erestor and sobbing into the silky raven hair that he had missed for so long.

Eventually the storm began to blow out and Erestor realized that they had ended up kneeling in one another's embrace. He cared not, but slowly raised his head, needing to look into the sapphire eyes of the other half of his fëa. Could this be real… after so long?

"I thought I might never see you again…," Erestor whispered, stroking Celebrimbor's tear-stained cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Erestor. Oh, my beautiful, beautiful Erestor… please, can you forgive me?" Celebrimbor pleaded in a desperate whisper.

"Forgive… my beloved…?"

"That I left you, that you… had to stay there so long. I did not realise what it would do to you… preserving you, against all…."

"I care not, Celeb, only that I have you back. And know that I shall make such terrible war, single-handedly, upon any who tries to take you from me ever again!"

"We never shall be parted again, my Eres, never," Celebrimbor said confidently, holding Erestor tightly. "Will you come? Will you see the home I've made here, for us? There is still much work to be done, of course, but I wanted to wait…."

"A home… our home?" Erestor murmured.

"Aye, beloved, our home, for all our days," Celebrimbor said, softly kissing Erestor's cheek. "And, at last, we will celebrate our wedding, here, where there will be no war or gloom or sorrow."

"I've waited millennia, Celeb. Please, let's go home?" Erestor said, all but falling into Celebrimbor's arms with exhaustion now that the wound of a broken fëa was healing at last.


	2. Into the West

Part 1 – Fëa

Naked, chained, and beaten, in the very smithy he'd founded, in the very land he'd ruled. His end was upon him. _To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well…. _Could there be any ends more evil than this? To die at the hands of the Dark Lord himself, tortured and alone?

Alone. Well, in a way that was a mercy. There was no friend or ally here to witness this defeat or to fall to Sauron's tortures beside him. As a dozen archers drew arrows pointed at him, Celebrimbor's thoughts turned to the only comfort he'd ever known in Middle Earth. There above was a hole in the roof of the smithy, caused by some engine of war, and Celebrimbor's gaze turned toward it and the darkened skies above. With his last breath he whispered an apology, hoping only that Lord Manwë would grant his last request and carry it on the winds to his beloved.

Twelve heavy arrows pierced his body simultaneously, so that he could scarcely register the pain all at once. Or maybe that was only because it already filled every square inch of him and there could be no room for more. Not all of this had been enough to finally separate his fëa from his flesh, though, or for Nämo to deem him fit to gather in. No, it had taken his broken body being skewered upon a pike for the blackness of oblivion and death to finally grant him pity.

* * *

Gradually, the black nothing began to give way to light. It was still nothing, but light nothing was very different to dark nothing. Or maybe that was just it… light was _something_, whereas only darkness was nothing.

And then there was the fact that there was actually something else there. He just wasn't exactly sure what it was. A sound? Well, no, nothing that distinct. A noise, more like. Yes, it was a noise… of some sort. Wind in the leaves, perhaps? A rushing stream? Rain in the night? A crackling fire? All of these?

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to matter as it wasn't affecting him directly and there seemed to be no danger present. Maybe he could just rest for a time. That seemed best.

For some while he let his consciousness drift sleepily and felt a sense of contentment. It was like a mild morning, still wrapped in the arms of – wait… where _was_ his beloved? Whatever this place was, if he wasn't with Erestor, he didn't care to stay around! Celebrimbor fought against the soothing of the light-nothingness, even as it lay heavy about him like a living blanket, unwilling to be thrown off.

As he focused his mind to his struggle, the noises about him became more definable. Not noises now, but sounds, proper and clear. And then they seemed to become even more comprehensible; not even just sounds anymore – these were now voices, speaking words. Not words in any tongue he'd ever heard, no, but they were most clearly words. Eventually the alien words began to take on meaning, as if they were now in a tongue he'd been born speaking.

"Can such valor and sacrifice be invalidated, though?" said one voice, full and somewhat booming, in an oddly jovial way.

"There is also the matter of this ring to be considered…," said another, even and regal, but rather grave.

"There was no evil in this creation, surely!" argued one, deep and hard, and more passionate than the first two.

"Perhaps not in intention…," said the regal one.

"And if in outcome, can he be held at fault for that? When it has been pronounced upon his people as fate?" That was the passionate one again.

"Yet, it shall lead to great suffering," spoke a new voice, this one heavy with sadness and sympathy.

"And that was not its meaning – it was meant for safekeeping, preserving, out of great love and devotion," said the passionate one.

"That preserving stands contrary to the ordained order of things," came yet another voice, and this one was oddly familiar, grave like the regal one, but more… hollow. "The Firstborn are not meant to withstand the rending of their fëar, but because of the power of this magic, I am now unable to collect the one who bears it."

"And how could it be contrary to the order if it is _so_?" argued the passionate voice.

"My brother may be correct. Yet, that one with such grief should long endure… might it not serve a vital purpose?" posed the sorrowful voice.

"It might be noted that the ultimate reason behind this creation was a lack of trust in his entreaties," said the regal voice musingly.

"What reason had this one to trust?" argued the passionate voice. "Having seen all who went before him fall so far, having repudiated their ways and distanced himself from his own family… what cause had this one ever to believe that some good might last? As, indeed, it did not."

"I know this one is dear to you," the regal one said, "but you might also remember who it was to put an end to that good."

"My Lords and Ladies," interrupted a voice, barely more than a whisper, gentle and soothing, "we are perceived…."

Just then, the light nothingness began to fade. Features gradually became distinguishable and Celebrimbor found that he was in a hall, vast and lofty. Before him were seven… beings – great, impossibly tall, Elf-like and yet… not. And they were all looking at him.

These, then, were the Lords of the West. And they were discussing him. _Arguing_ over him. Valar were arguing over him…. Surely it was not possible for that to have a good outcome….

"Greetings, Telperinquar Curufinion," intoned the regal voice. That could only have been Lord Manwë. Light radiated from him and seemed almost to bend and wrap about him like great wings. It made it almost impossible to look directly at him, even though he was clearly in the most "earthly" form he could manage.

Celebrimbor, though he fell to his knees or whatever a disembodied fëa perceived as "knees", chanced a look up and dared to speak where ordinarily he would have only bowed his head and trembled like a leaf. "Please, great Lord of Arda, I have no connection to that name. I beg, if nothing else, that it should not be attached to me here. I prefer to be Celebrimbor…." _What a thing to trifle over!_ he thought as he trailed off, feeling rather pitiful and stupid. What difference would his name make here, being judged before the Valar? Still, if he was to be judged, he'd rather it be for his own deeds in his own name than those of his forebears, under his father-name.

All was silent and Celebrimbor wondered if the weight of the regard of the Valar might not obliterate whatever was left of him.

"T'is well done, my Lord Manwë," said that passionate voice after an interminable interval.

Celebrimbor glanced from the corner of his eye to that one and saw a Vala who looked muscular, attired in a leather apron, wrought with gleaming metal and glimmering jewels. His own Lord Aulë spoke for him? Celebrimbor could have wept with gratitude!

"There remains this question of the ring," Manwë said evenly.

"I did not know of it, until the very moment it was donned, Lord Manwë," Celebrimbor pled. "I had no hand in its making. I knew not that Annatar was our enemy and that he would claim control over the Rings of Power…."

"This ring of Mairon's is not the matter at hand," Manwë said patiently. "It is another article, one that was of your design and making, your skill and craft. Indeed, this ring carries a fearsome magic, one that would be far beyond the ability of any other of the Firstborn."

"My Lord, I…." Celebrimbor stopped, for he truly wasn't certain of the charge against him. It seemed that the Valar were in fact as inscrutable as he'd always been told.

"This creation," said Aulë, approaching Celebrimbor and stooping down to speak to him, "it is more powerful than those other three rings. Perhaps even more powerful than the one of Mairon's own making, though I fear time will tell the measure of that," Aulë said with a glance toward a Vala who stood in the lowest light, robed in sable and grey, looking impassive. "This ring you have created bestows preservation upon only the one to whom it was given – not entire lands. You see, my skillful child, the one you gave it to should have come to Mandos shortly after your coming here. But now not even the loss of his other half shall claim him."

For a long moment, Celebrimbor was dumbstruck. "My Lord Aulë," he whispered. "You speak of Erestor…?"

"Your beloved one," Aulë nodded, causing the beads in his braids to jingle softly.

"Do you mean that…. He cannot…? But I never meant – I only wanted to keep him safe, from any who might wish him harm! But then… I never meant to leave him, either…."

Celebrimbor was growing frantic and afraid, his thoughts racing. Did the Lords mean that the ring he'd given Erestor to symbolize their love would prevent his grief from claiming him? Well, certainly he didn't _want_ Erestor's grief to kill him, but surely this wouldn't prevent him from seeking the West forevermore, would it? And what if Erestor simply never did sail? He was born and lived all his life in Middle Earth, he'd never seen Valinor, and Erestor was not an Elf who sought out adventure and new horizons. Lord Aulë said that Erestor should have died but now wouldn't… they could have been reunited – if fëar interacted in Mandos and did not dwell in solitude, as mayhap they did - or at least in the days beyond when they could make their long-home together. Did his giving that ring to Erestor now condemn his beautiful, wise counselor to some sort of unhappy half-existence for the rest of time? Did this all render him ineligible for release from the Halls of Waiting like his grandfather, as he had so long feared? Had the Curse of the Noldor ensured that his doom was wrought by his own hand, forever denying him reunion with Erestor?

"My Lord Manwë, please" said the saddened voice, stepping up to Celebrimbor from the other side. "He is suffering."

Celebrimbor felt a comforting presence as he looked over at a beautiful female figure, a deep blue hooded mantle shrouding her. Turning to her, Celebrimbor pleaded, "My Lady, I care not for myself. But must my beloved endure grief unrelenting? He's done nothing to warrant such. The fault is mine alone."

"His grief is for the loss of his love," she said sadly. "It cannot be mitigated by any power within the Encircling Seas. But he shall not have to bear it alone, my sad child. And he shall not be denied entrance when his time is come."

"But will he be…." Celebrimbor stopped. If he was honest, he _did_ care for himself, because if Erestor was kept from him, then he would be kept from Erestor, and so maybe neither would be granted peace.

Finally Manwë rose and stepped forward. "Lords and Ladies, this matter must be addressed between Lord Nämo and myself. I must beg you leave us to speak with this child alone."

In a blink, all those assembled, with the exception of Manwë and the Vala of somber tones vanished.

"My child," Manwë said, "this should not be a place of dread for you. I see your fears, and it saddens me. But I know that you have seen much that has given you cause to fear, even here in the West. Firstly, I shall assure you that the doom you fear is not meant for those who never instigated war and kinslaying. What is more, you must not think of your time dwelling in Mandos as punitive. That is not at all the purpose. Those who come to us by death have need of respite and healing and time for contemplation. The re-embodient of the Firstborn alone draws a great deal of energy, physically as well as of the mind and heart. You need to be prepared.

"The reason we have been discussing this particular ring of yours is that the one who bears it has, through your united fëar, a small connection to the ring of Mairon's making. I have already seen that you blame yourself for many things beyond your control. This is why I believe you need to seek much solace and understanding in Mandos. I do not believe there will be peace elsewhere for you while connection to the ring of Mairon remains."

"Then I am meant to dwell in the Halls only until that terrible Ring is no more?" Celebrimbor asked, a note of hope nearly edging into his voice, until another thought occurred to him. "But, if my beloved should arrive here before such a time… or if that Ring be never unmade?"

Manwë and Nämo exchanged a look.

"Your kind are bold and inquisitive by your nature," said Nämo, "yet I have known few as bold as you. Indeed, but one."

Celebrimbor quickly lowered his head, knowing just what the Doomsman of the Valar meant. "I mean no offense or irreverence, Lords. Only… my love for him is far greater than reason. Not for jewels or metal or lands or kingdoms would I swear oaths. But for him… for our love… I would undertake to uproot the Pelóri if I had to."

Again the two Valar looked at one another for some while and Celebrimbor rather got the impression they were engaged in a silent conversation.

"It is rare that we speak of occurrences yet to be, for very often they truly are not known even to us," Manwë said. "But concerning Mairon's ring, we do know that its fate shall change Arda evermore. It will be unmade, yes. And so, too, will your beloved one cross the seas, one day, when he is ready to heed the call."

"Will he be all right?" Celebrimbor asked in a small voice.

Manwë sighed. "He will endure."

"He has no other option, because I knew not the strength of my own creation," Celebrimbor whispered desolately.

"This, too, will have a purpose," Manwë said.

"Is it true what the Lady said? He really shan't have to endure this alone, shall he?" Celebrimbor pled.

For a third time, Manwë and Nämo regarded one another as if in conference.

"He will have allies," Nämo responded.

"My child," Manwë said kindly, "you yourself have endured more than nearly any other of your kind. Yet all of your cares are for this one you love so. Have you not seen how my fellow Lords and Ladies here are moved by the strength of your devotion? Few have been the loves as profound and withstanding as this. It would be wrong for this to be denied beyond the time ordained for its reason, this much I do know."

Celebrimbor bowed his head low. "Thank you, my Lord," he murmured.

"Are you prepared, now, to follow me, child?" Nämo asked.

Celebrimbor sighed. The Doomsman of the Valar was requesting his presence in the Halls of Mandos. Yes, he knew he had died, and had the vague impression that his death had been… bad. That was still somewhat difficult to comprehend. At the moment, he had no memory of details, but he knew that it would all become clear before long. While he contemplated things that were generally beyond the grasp of the living, no doubt. While he dwelled in the Halls of Awaiting, pining for the day he was deemed ready to leave and be returned to his corporeal form, and – please, Lords! – his beloved, beautiful Erestor.

"Yes, my Lord, I will come, and hope there to find the peace I knew but momentarily in my first life," Celebrimbor said.

"You will have solace and strength, valiant child," Manwë said. "Know that you are not thought of poorly here, Celebrimbor of the Noldor, and that your return will be looked for. But go now and attain the peace you have earned."

Celebrimbor saw Nämo extend an arm with an open hand. Tentatively, he reached out and met the touch of the Vala of Death. A shadowy fog seemed to descend and envelop them and they seemed to move as one through the lands of the West, coming at last to a glorious gate in a cave-mouth which they entered without hindrance and passed into a hall massive beyond reckoning, adorned with the most vivid and detailed tapestries. Somewhere in here, a place was accorded for Celebrimbor, son of Curufin Fëanorion, once Lord of Eregion and intended husband of Chief Counselor Erestor. He hoped now only to come through and still merit the love of his beautiful counselor, whenever he would arrive.

* * *

Part 2 – Hröa

The concept of time is foreign to the Halls of Awaiting. One does not find oneself wondering how one will ever pass the hours, days, years, ages. Is, was, and will be are simultaneous. The only thing one truly perceives is the change to oneself. Somehow, within the land of Mandos, through the non-time one is accorded there, one encounters the serenity and freedom from fear and care to be able to reflect so deeply it does not even occur at the level of recognizable consciousness. One finds oneself able to understand connections between occurrences that might have seemed wholly unrelated before. One finds oneself almost disassociated from oneself, split in two and able to observe objectively.

So when one day Celebrimbor perceived the call of Lord Nämo, he answered it without much question, traversing the underground tunnels, passed the unending tapestries of all time, to the Lord and Lady's great hall. The Lady Vairë sat aside at her great loom, a large basket, brimming with skeins of every shade beside her. Nämo sat nearby, perusing his lady's latest additions. It had certainly been a busy spell in their realm. After a few moments, he looked up at Celebrimbor.

"Greetings once again, my child. How are you faring?"

"Well enough, my Lord," Celebrimbor responded. "I have found much more peace than I would have thought possible since my coming here."

Namo nodded. "Such is our aim. I summoned you here for a purpose, though. Tell me, child, do you feel that the equanimity you have gained here should be sufficient to sustain you were you to leave our Halls?"

Celebrimbor was quiet for a long while before regarding the Doomsman of the Valar again. "Do you suggest that I might soon be released and restored, my Lord?"

"If you think your heart and mind ready, then, yes, I do. Much has come to pass in recent days. The Eastern lands are free once again of the evil of Mairon and his ring. We believe that many happy reunions will occur at Eldamar ere long. If you think yourself ready, I see no reason you should not go forth and begin to prepare your long-home."

"It is the only thing my heart wants for, my Lord," Celebrimbor murmured, now filled with a desperate hope that he might go and soon be with his Erestor once again.

Namo nodded again and beckoned to Celebrimbor. "Come, then, and be re-housed, child."

Celebrimbor approached the Vala and found himself growing sleepy and heavy as darkness seemed to surround him. He knew nothing more for some while.

* * *

The next thing Celebrimbor was aware of was light. That was a familiar pattern and he hoped dearly that he wouldn't find himself again in the court of Manwë being told that the judgment of Lord Nämo had been overruled and he could not be re-embodied after all.

"Coming around a bit?" someone nearby asked quietly. It sounded like someone… normal… not with that sort of hollow sound Valaran voices took on when speaking through Elf-like forms.

Celebrimbor still wasn't keen on opening his eyes straight away. "Who is that?" he asked, surprised at how weak his own voice sounded.

"A very old friend, Holly King."

Celebrimbor laboured to prise his eyes open a bit. He could just perceive a figure sat beside him, but it was such an effort to keep his eyes open long enough to process any information.

"Rest a while yet. It is taxing being remade, I know. I will stay here until you are awake."

Celebrimbor relaxed then and stopped trying to fight the sleep that he seemed to need, eyes closing and all. As his mind slipped gently back to the realm of Irmo, it occurred to him that he did know his guardian – that was Ereinion Gil-galad if it was anyone.

That was a comfort. As was the realization that he could, after how long, feel a physical form about him. A very, very sleepy form, albeit. But he was re-housed… all could continue from there.

Sometime later when he woke again, Celebrimbor felt much more rested, as though he'd had a sound sleep and was ready to rise and begin a new day.

Or a new life, he thought. Pushing himself up, he started looking about. The room was clearly of Elven design, clean and bright, warm and comforting. He wondered where he was and thought he remembered hearing the voice of Ereinion at some point. And if his old friend was there, so, too, maybe Erestor had come to the West.

Carefully, he rose to stand and realized he was robed in a simple but elegant garment of gold silk. How thoughtful that seemed to him at that moment, to be comfortable to rise and have a look around as he gained a sense of place. Everything seemed so, so very _new_ now, and he realized that it rather was. It had been a very long time since he'd looked upon anything through eyes, after all.

Letting himself out of the room, Celebrimbor came into a long, broad, curving gallery with a ceiling so lofty it seemed not there at all. Opposite him, the gallery overlooked a lush, verdant garden and stream just beyond. His memories of Formenos were very old indeed, but this was most assuredly not the northern fortress of the Noldor. Where, though, might the Valar have seen fit to deliver him to wake remade, and in the care of his old friend who had been the High King of his people so long ago?

As if summoned by thought, around the corner came a tall Elf robed in sapphire traced with threads of gold. There was a half-laugh and a shake of the head. "Now, why does it surprise me little that you should wake and strike out in as much time as it took me to fetch myself a simple cup of tea?"

For a long while Celebrimbor just stared at his old friend, standing at the other end of passageway as though everything were perfectly normal. They might have been in the midst of celebrating the spring festival at Ost-in-Edhil as soon as meeting again for the first time in who knew how many ages, somewhere in the Undying Lands.

"How are you?" Ereinion asked as he approached. "It can be quite trying coming back."

"Trying… aye…. Where are we?" Celebrimbor asked, clasping Erenion's arm for emotional stability as much as physical.

"Why don't we sit, my friend? We will have much of which to speak. Come, my chambers are just by here," Ereinion said, wrapping an arm around Celebrimbor's shoulder and guiding him back around the corner from which he had appeared. "To answer your question, we are in Tirion. Specifically, the House of the Lords, although that's a rather pretentious appellation as lordship matters for very little here." Ereinion lead Celebrimbor into a wide, airy sitting room and settled him upon a soft chair before turning to the hearth and pouring a cup of tea. "Here. You will feel much revived with this."

Celebrimbor took the cup and just looked at it for some moments. He sipped the tea cautiously and found it strong but flavourful, not so bitter and bracing, almost floral and reminding him a bright wine and a mountain breeze. It was a taste he now remembered from the earliest days of his youth, a rare treat hoarded jealously in the banishment of Formenos.

"So I have been granted return from death and no longer stood in the disgrace of exile," Celebrimbor murmured.

Ereinion smiled softly. "And that may take you longer to come to grips with than being returned to your hröa."

Celebrimbor looked up and there was only one thought that occurred to him. "I have missed you greatly, and we shall have much to discuss, I know, but… has he come yet? I think he must have not, for would he not be here? Unless the ages apart have diminished what I thought to be more inviolable than aught else…."

Ereinion reached out for Celebrimbor's hand. "Not yet, I'm sorry. Though, I expect it shan't be very much longer now. We hear of great change in the East, ships arriving at the quay almost daily. I expect he will aid the conclusion of the days of the Eldar upon Middle Earth, then come to seek ease."

"Ereinion… I know not how long I dwelt there in those caverns of the uttermost West. I did find more peace and understanding there than I ever thought I might, yes, but till I be reunited with Erestor, I will not be whole. I may have been absolved of the taint of my forebears, but I yet hold myself blameworthy. I know that he has suffered unduly because of the work of my hand - though I wanted naught but to protect him from suffering, that protection has indeed caused it. Though I know not how grievously." Celebrimbor looked into Ereinion's eyes, imploring him implicitly to omit no detail of anything he'd seen or heard of Erestor.

Ereinion sighed. "It would be a disservice not to tell you that it was rough for a while. After your death, I was certain that Erestor's grief would claim him. I think it very nearly did. Many times I all but begged him to let us ready a ship for him, but he would not. He feared so to come here and find that… well, that you might be withheld from him evermore."

Celebrimbor felt a familiar tightness begin to grip him, a worry that even here he might ultimately not find peace. Despite that the Lords said Erestor would come to Eldamar, that did not mean that he would ever be able to forgive Celebrimbor for working a magic that condemned him to enduring ages with a torn fëa.

"Such had been my worst fear as well, for so long. Now that it is no more, I fear that he will have grown bitter with me, unable to forgive what I did."

Ereinion reached out for Celebrimbor's hand and shook his head. "If there is one thing you need never fear, it is any faltering of the love he bears you. Very few have known such a love, I think."

"I will fear it till I see it disproved, my friend. One such as I can take nothing for granted. How long is it since you last saw him?"

"Some while," Ereinion admitted. "After the war in Eregion was ended, I asked Elrond Earendilion to lead a new settlement for the refugees in the valley of Imladris. Erestor chose to go there once he felt recovered, to aid Elrond as councillor. They had made much progress there, by the time the next war was upon us. I did not see the outcome of that one with my own eyes, but heard that the tide was turned by a prince of Men who took Sauron's ring from him on the battlefield."

Celebrimbor suddenly looked stricken. "He was not in this battle, tell me! He is not a warrior, and never should have -"

"No, no he was not there. He remained in Imladris as seneschal. He would have become Lord had anything happened to Elrond."

Celebrimbor sighed in relief, but then stopped and looked back at Ereinion. "You say Sauron's ruling ring was taken? But when was this? For it was told to me that the ring was only recently destroyed."

"It has been centuries, it seems," Ereinion said. "We here, too, have heard of that ring's unmaking and I wondered that it could have been so long – the ring was taken in the same battle which claimed my life, but it was not destroyed then. I know not why, I have only heard from those who arrived here after my re-awakening that the ring was kept by the prince until his death when it was lost. Many thought it likely lost evermore."

Celebrimbor shook his head. "Not such a ring as he would have devised. It would have heeded his call, and he would have drawn power from it and from any foolish enough to try to use it."

Again, Ereinion reached out to his old friend. "If it has been destroyed, the threat is no more. And you have been returned to us, Celebrimbor, absolved of any fault you might have borne before. You must look now to your new life. Think now on establishing your long-home here; prepare a place for when your beloved arrives. Do you think you should wish to live here in the city? Or perhaps outside?"

Celebrimbor sighed. It was plain that Ereinion wanted to divert him from such gloomy conversation. "Even here, even re-housed, I shall not be truly happy till I hold him again. I shall endeavor, though, to be less miserable, I assure you. What you say is wise; I must begin making a home for us here. Perhaps if I build a fine enough house, he will forget any bitterness he has endured because of me. A great library for him to fill. And a hot-spring pool, as we had in the bath house at Ost-in-Edhil – I never shall forget how he loved to take his ease there at day's end…. And a forge, naturally. Mithril is not had here, is it?"

Ereinion smiled and laughed softly, for it was good to hear Celebrimbor speaking more as he had at the founding of Eregion. "I do not believe it is, no. I'm sure you may find a suitable substitute, though. And it is known that Lord Aulë himself has greatly awaited your return from the realm of Nämo."

"Lord Aulë? _My_ return? For what purpose?" Celebrimbor asked, almost to himself.

"Smithwork? Jewelcraft?" Ereinion shrugged. "Your reputation is well-known, my friend. But more, I think that Lord Aulë appreciated that you always did regard his own children as nothing less than your equals."

Celebrimbor shook his head in wonder. "Perhaps I should seek his audience?"

Ereinion nodded. "You might. But come and take a meal with me first? We still have much to talk of, and you are still recovering."

"Aye. All in time. What became of the three rings?" Celebrimbor asked curiously.

"I thought it best, after the war, that they be kept separate. That way, even if one was taken, the other two might provide our people some protection. At least enough to escape, if needed. I sent Nenya to Lady Galadriel and asked Círdan to keep Narya. I myself held Vilya for a time, but thought it might do more good in Imladris with Elrond."

Celebrimbor nodded thoughtfully and murmured, "A wise decision."

Ereinion looked at Celebrimbor and could tell he was still thinking of Erestor. Likely the only thing that would distract him for any length of time would involve a hammer and anvil. "He loves you, Celebrimbor. That shall no sooner cease than Varda's stars drop out of the skies."

"It's the only thing that matters to me, Ereinion…."

"I know, my friend. Come, let us eat and drink and talk of this long-home you will be preparing. Mayhap we shall meet some who are more lately come from Imladris and can give you more current word of your beloved one. There was a smith from Eregion who came not so long ago… Govannen, I believe. He spent many years in Imladris. He will have known Erestor, certainly. Oh, and of course you must meet Lady Celebrian, Elrond's wife, she will have known Erestor quite well."

"Thank you," Celebrimbor said seriously. "For everything. I should be so lost here without a friend."

"You are lost no more," Ereinion said with a smile as he clasped Celebrimbor's shoulder. "We shall see all things set right 'ere long."

Celebrimbor resolved to spend his days in hopeful preparation for the day Erestor returned to him. Only then would his fëa truly be re-housed and made whole again.


	3. Changed Worlds

It had been more than an age since Glorfindel had set eyes on Eldamar. His heart swelled even as he felt peace and calm pour over him like a waterfall. Home… at long last. And this time he could stay and settle in, no more the life of a warrior. Perhaps he could turn poet or loremaster, given all he'd seen.

As the boat approached the quay, Glorfindel found he was somewhat disappointed. Where were the crowds to welcome them? Only a few Elves were there and they looked to be (rather bored) Telerin keepers of the port.

"Was our coming unlooked for, or have we arrived on a day of some festival, even as did Eärendil upon these shores?" Glorfindel huffed. "Surely this should be marked – the first of the Children of Aulë to see these shores, to say nothing of the arrival of the sons of Elrond!"

"That will mean they have barred their doors, my friend," Legolas laughed as he threw the tow-rope to an Elf on the dock.

"One might take umbrage with that if one had but the stomach," grumbled the now white-haired Dwarf. The sooner they were ready to debark the better!

"I meant the twins," Legolas grinned.

"I daresay many expected we had chosen otherwise," Elladan shrugged.

"Daerada might have mentioned…," Elrohir said, beginning to feel mildly put out himself.

"'Rohir… daerada? The moment he stepped off the boat and got talking to Mithrandir, he wouldn't have noticed if his robes caught fire."

Elrohir gave a half shrug, then frowned and looked over at his brother. "I just want to see naneth, 'Ladan."

"Me too," Elladan said quietly. "Come, let us give them a surprise," he said, calling up a smile as he put an arm around Elrohir's shoulder and together they hopped down off the ship's rail.

Legolas and Gimli made use of the gangplank, and wandered down to the shore, both rapt of the sights of Aman.

Glorfindel just sighed and made his way off the ship. How strange, after all these years, being left to his own devices…. The first order of business, he decided, was to find out where his dear old friend was staying and if he'd found the healing he so deserved. And so off Glorfindel went toward Tirion, by way of the gentle woodlands surrounding the grand city.

As he walked through the forest, remembering the uniqueness of the very air of the West, he could swear he heard music off and away. It was a low song, played softly, a tune Glorfindel knew deep down was familiar, but from where and when? He really had meant to go directly to the city to enquire after Erestor, but now he felt compelled to this diversion, pulled along to follow the sound of the music.

After a few minutes' stealthy tracking – a habit he had not yet fallen out of – he came upon a clearing filled with little blue flowers in the grass that gave a woodsy, aromatic, cleansing scent. In the centre were two chairs that looked to have been carved of a tree that might have fallen there long ago. Upon one sat a tall, dark-haired Elf robed in a silvery-blue that rivaled the flowers. He had a flute at his lips and though his back was to Glorfindel, Glorfindel knew him at once and remembered his song.

"_Eithel_," Glorfindel murmured.

The flautist slowly turned his head toward the speaker, not lowering his instrument until he laid eyes on the Golden Lord of Gondolin. Then his lips parted in amazement and he broke out in a fond smile. "_Mallos_…!" Ecthelion rose to embrace Glorfindel as he entered the clearing. "My dear friend… how many ages it has been! I had wondered would you come at all."

Glorfindel laughed as he squeezed Ecthelion fiercely. "What a foolish thing to wonder! You did not think the Lords re-housed and sent me back to stay there evermore, did you?"

"Who can tell their intentions? After all, it is the speculation of some that you were sent back due to the great amount of annoyance you might have caused to those souls resting in the hallowed Halls of Mandos…."

Glorfindel groaned. "Only just back and I see I am no more revered by those who knew me of old than ever I was. Now, _that_ is why I might have remained in Middle Earth, where Men are still awed of me!"

Ecthelion threw back his head and laughed so loudly he startled several birds in the surrounding trees, who chirped their displeasure in clipped tones at the two Elves. "Ai, my friend, we who knew you then know better!" Ecthelion said. "But, come, will you not sit a while here with me? We have many years to cover."

"We have," Glorfindel nodded, "and so we shall. But, first, I have an important promise to keep. Do you know where I might find Master Erestor, who arrived some years ago with the bearers of the rings?"

Ecthelion smiled. "Everyone knows Erestor," he chuckled. "You will most likely find the loremaster at home in his library. Go back to the path and do not turn when it diverges toward the city. Rather, follow onward toward the mountains until the woodland ends and you find a great house of green stone. You will mistake it for none other. But when you've done there, return and sing with me our old songs? I remember how sweet was your voice with my flute."

"Return I shall," Glorfindel said, clasping Ecthelion's shoulder. "Though… as I recall it, it was your flute that was sweet with my voice."

"Too much time in the East has addled your wits," Ecthelion laughed, shooing Glorfindel away out of the clearing.

Glorfindel just grinned and went on his way back to the path. After a while, he found himself glancing back as the sound of Ecthelion's flute gradually became fainter. He smiled softly – how good to see his once-dearest friend again, after so long! And how he looked forward to coming back this way and speaking with him more and singing with him again, or just watching Ecthelion playing so devotedly and ably, his full lips and long fingers, the quiet tenderness that was so at odds with his strong features and ready laughter and exceptional dexterity with a blade….

…

As the path lead out of the woodland that sat about Tirion, there at the foot of the mountains indeed stood a fine house fashioned from stones with a distinctive green hue. It looked tranquil and cosy, surrounded by flourishing gardens. There was no one about to greet or direct him, so Glorfindel made his way through the garden and up the steps to the broad porch. The finely-worked main doors of the house stood open and welcoming, so Glorfindel stepped inside.

To his left, a wide stairway curved elegantly up to a first floor while a breezy corridor followed on deeper into the house. To the right there was a gathering hall that looked like it frequently hosted many friends through evenings of laughter and song. Everywhere were beautiful tapestries and sculpted stone and exquisite pottery and trees and flowers. This was a house of beauty and light and happiness, even moreso than Imladris had been.

Glorfindel supposed he should announce his presence. It was probably rather rude to stroll through someone's home unasked, even if this was supposed to be the home of one of his dearest friends. But the further he walked, the more he was kept silent by the charm of this quiet, lovely house. On the wall of the corridor hung one tapestry Glorfindel recognized. It had been on the wall of Erestor's bedchamber and was one of the only things he'd taken with him on the journey west. It was unfinished at the bottom, still, and depicted Erestor and his beloved Lord Celebrimbor on what would have been their wedding day at Ost-in-Edhil so long ago.

Glorfindel wondered if it was possible that they were yet apart and had just decided to call out and see if anyone was at home when he turned and found the room opposite was clearly the library Ecthelion had mentioned. Glorfindel stepped to the doorway to knock upon the open door and spotted someone inside, making notes in a ledger as he sorted through an armful of scrolls.

Glorfindel cleared his throat softly and asked the Elf clad in robes of shimmering peacock-like blue-green, "Your pardon, friend, but I wonder where I might find Master Erestor?"

"You might find him at home in his library," replied the Elf dryly before he finished the notation and looked back over his shoulder. "Oh. I see. The Great Golden Toad has come at last."

Glorfindel stared gobsmacked and probably looking rather toad-like, indeed. There was no mistaking the pierce of Erestor's grey eyes, to say nothing of that tone of voice, but… since when did Erestor o Eregion wear colours? And such vivid, joyful ones!

After several moments of Glorfindel's stunned inarticulation, Erestor cocked a brow. "Either you are overcome from the exhausting journey or King Thranduil has seen fit to have severed your vocal chords. I might not entirely disagree with him after all."

Finally, Glorfindel thought he'd recovered his train of thought enough to manage a suitable riposte. Unfortunately, all he came out with was, "What _are_ you wearing?"

"Ah. You can still talk. Oh, well. Perhaps you'd better sit, then," Erestor said, setting his scrolls and quill aside and coming to pull Glorfindel in where he might sit upon a soft chaise. "And these are _robes_," he said slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a particularly inebriated hobbit. "They are a comfortable alternative to the tunic and leggings you favour, but still not to be confused with a frock. Quite."

"Oh, stop being your sour old self!" Glorfindel said, finally shaking off his confusion. "It is years since I've seen you – and I've never seen you in such a shade as this!" Glorfindel said, poking teasingly at Erestor's shoulder. "Now, come, tell me everything!"

Erestor crossed his arms rather sullenly. "I shall hardly tell you everything. If you wanted to know it, you might have come in the first place. You surely recall how I do so detest having to recount a tale for late arrivals or those who cannot keep up."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. Whatever the hue of Erestor's robes, some things clearly had not changed in the interim! Grasping Erestor's shoulder, Glorfindel's mien turned earnest. "Erestor, our many old poniards aside. Is he with you again?"

Slowly, the sharpness of Erestor's expression softened into a smile and the iciness of his eyes warmed to a sparkle. It was as alien to see on Erestor as his bright robes. "Aye, mellon. We are one and whole again, he and I, for the rest of time as we know it."

Glorfindel clasped Erestor in a tight, joyful embrace. "I am so glad for you," he murmured. "And did I not tell you your fears were all for naught!" he added with a smug laugh.

"No, in fact, you did not," Erestor rejoined as he lightly shoved Glorfindel away. "You always said that the Lords of the West were inscrutable and none could say. Now, if you can possibly sit there and be silent for five minutes whiles I finish what I was doing before you barged in… I shall take leave of my peaceful hallow and offer you a glass of wine."

Glorfindel again rolled his eyes, but took the offered seat and watched as quietly as he could while Erestor returned to his scrolls and ledger. Eventually, though, Glorfindel's curiosity overcame his resolve to keep mute. "Does Lord Celebrimbor abide here with you, then?"

Erestor glanced over at Glorfindel with a resigned huff but continued his work. "He certainly should; he built this home for us both, and he _is_ my husband. You, of course, missed the wedding but I was unwilling to delay it for another age until you decided to grace Eldamar with your comely countenance again."

"Well, that is a pity. I was so looking forward to giving you away," Glorfindel quipped.

Erestor just shook his head. "You are a ridiculous creature," he muttered.

"If you like. However, you may be interested to learn that the whole of the ballast of the ship I crossed on was comprised of barrels of Dorwinion wine. And several crates of miruvor, as well. I am as good as my word."

Erestor shrugged. "We have superior wines and cordials here, but I thank you for your pains."

Glorfindel pouted, though he'd known that all along. "I did also sail with the twins, though."

At that Erestor did stop. "The boys have come? Truly?"

"Aye, of course truly. I would not jest about that."

"Their coming was unlooked for; Elrond and Celebrían will be overjoyed."

Glorfindel made a thoughtful noise. "They seemed to think that Lord Celeborn might have imparted word of their ultimate choice."

Erestor shook his head. "It is as likely that they neglected to inform him, presuming that he already knew. You know those two."

Glorfindel laughed. "Aye, I do."

"Well, I suppose I might as well abandon all hope of a productive day. Come, let us drink. I suppose I owe you a welcome, and I should like to hear news of our King and Queen of Men."

Glorfindel sighed. "That news I shall keep short for now. Their days were filled with peace and joy, and their son is a very fine young King and their daughters incredible and accomplished ladies."

"Oh," Erestor said softly. "Of course, you would not have come until such a time. Nor would the boys." Erestor was quiet for a moment, then took Glorfindel's arm and drew him away toward a dining hall where he took two deep cups and a full decanter from a sideboard. "Let us talk of gladder news, then, and sit with me in the garden where we can enjoy the fine day."

"I shall not keep you too long," Glorfindel said as they took up seats on a bench under a tree filled with fragrant white flowers. "I promised another old friend that I would join him on my way back."

"Thank the Valar," Erestor murmured teasingly.

"You are a trial to be borne!" Glorfindel huffed, pondering how he always managed to befriend those so proficient in the art of cheekiness. "Erestor, I wonder, do you know Ecthelion of Gondolin well? Only, it was he who I met on the way here and directed me to your house. He and I were fast friends in the city – it is in fact he I promised to meet again later – and I… well, it is ages since I last knew him, you see."

Erestor gave Glorfindel a shrewd look as he poured them each a glass. "I would not say we are particular friends, but I have spoken with him any number of times when we chance to meet, which is not infrequently as Celeb has done a fair bit of work now with Rog of Gondolin and, of course, Ecthelion is quite social with that set. And we do have a common experience of hardship, after all. A most gifted flautist he is. And, oddly, I do not believe I've ever once heard the word 'Balrog' from his lips. Isn't that a wonder!"

"Common hardship?" Glorfindel said, his brow furrowed, ignoring Erestor's Balrog jibe.

Erestor just smiled and passed a glass to Glorfindel with a nod.

"Gods…. I shouldn't speak to either of you!"

"Would you swear to not!" Erestor smirked. "Why, prithee, do you enquire about him, when surely you might ask him directly?"

"I only wished to know if there were any subjects I ought avoid," Glorfindel grumbled, "as it has been very many millennia, as I mentioned."

"Perhaps you mean to enquire, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, if the Lord of the House of the Fountain is, in fact… spoken for?" Erestor said with a grin.

Again Glorfindel's brows knit slightly. "No, I merely…. Is he?"

Erestor now laughed openly, a light and easy laugh that Glorfindel had most assuredly never heard from the once austere Chief Counselor. "How very interesting! He is not, to the best of common knowledge," Erestor said.

"That's nice," Glorfindel said with poorly-feigned disinterest.

Erestor laughed again, his eyes sparkling mischievously. He could scarcely wait to tease Glorfindel once the two famed Balrog-slayers of Gondolin figured it out for themselves. From down the hill where a clear, bright stream ran, came another dark-haired Elf, clad in a sleeveless tunic and leggings, up toward the green-stone house and the sparkle in Erestor's eyes turned warmer.

"Ah. Along comes my beloved husband," Erestor said proudly, passing his cup to Glorfindel and going to the open gates to greet Celebrimbor, who wrapped his arms tightly around Erestor's waist and lifted him up with a deep kiss, his long, thick plait still dripping from his bath in the stream moments before.

Glorfindel, watching from across the garden, wondered at the ease and lightness, the sense of contentment that Erestor now seemed to inhabit. The new brightly-hued robes were clearly only the superficies of the change in his friend, for he certainly could never have imagined Erestor permitting anyone to lift him up like that and live to tell the tale. For all the time Glorfindel had known him, Erestor was most accurately described as 'stiff as a board and acerbic as a lemon'. Now he was relaxed and smiling warmly in the arms of his husband. The change was most incredible.

"You foolish smith," Erestor murmured fondly when he was set back down upon the ground, though he couldn't resist taking another short kiss of his own. "We have a guest, lately come from the East."

Celebrimbor pulled Erestor a bit closer and whispered, "For the love of Aulë, tell me not that Thranduil has changed his mind and left Middle Earth!"

Erestor snickered and swatted at Celebrimbor's arm. "No! Come. And attempt to acquit yourself like a Lord, please!"

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes but followed Erestor, attempting to pat dry the back of his neck where his damp plait hung down as they wended their way through the garden to one of the benches where sat a tall, blond Elf holding two goblets.

"Glorfindel, I'd like to present my husband, Lord Celebrimbor," Erestor said as they approached.

Glorfindel stood, still holding the two goblets, and inclined his head graciously. Erestor shook his head and plucked the two vessels out of his hands before turning to his husband. "Beloved, at last I present to you one of my dearest friends, Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin. And now I am convinced that you are two of a kind," he added in a murmur, "great but lovable fools, both."

"Lord Glorfindel," Celebrimbor said, extending his hand, "this is truly an honour. Your name was well-known in Nargothrond when I dwelt there. Indeed, I many times thought I might seek for the hidden city myself, especially after Nargothrond fell."

Glorfindel took Celebrimbor's handclasp but shook his head. "We none of us had long peace in those days. But from what I have heard, you had the finest city of all, and exceptional prosperity to match, in Ost-in-Edhil."

Erestor might have known that those two would fall to comparing stories of the First Age given half a chance. They would go on all night if he didn't deftly chair this meeting, especially if talk turned to war-stories.

"Glorfindel," Erestor said quickly, "I know you are eager to return to your friend, but will you not stay a bit longer? Surely you would like to refresh yourself and take a decent meal after that arduous journey over the sea?"

Glorfindel grinned at Erestor. Now this was indeed something that had not changed! Glorfindel knew very well the difference between Erestor's invitations and his 'suggestions'. This was clearly of the latter. He supposed he likely was a bit on the travel-worn side and maybe he could tidy up a bit before going on to greet Ecthelion again.

"You are most welcome here at Dûnereg," Celebrimbor said amenably, for he, too, knew well that Erestor fully expected his 'suggestions' to be followed.

Glorfindel nodded. "My thanks. Perhaps I shall stay just long enough to freshen up. Something to eat other than lembas would be rather welcome as well."

"Exactly," Erestor said as if there had been no other possible response. "Now, come, I shall show you the wonderful bath house my adoring husband built me here and you shall take your ease while I fetch you something appropriate to wear, and then we shall all take a meal together. Celeb, go on to the kitchen and light the fire, will you please? There was some beautiful, fresh pink fish brought just this morning, I shall prepare it and we will feast nicely tonight."

"Ever am I at your service, beloved," Celebrimbor said, bowing solemnly with his hand over his heart.

"Silly Elf," Erestor smirked, even as he leaned in to kiss Celebrimbor's cheek before taking Glorfindel's arm in his and leading him through the garden around to the back of the house where stood a smaller building of white stone, handsomely inlaid with gold and silver motifs of stars, flowers, and trees. Erestor lead the way in and directly passed the inviting pools of water to an antechamber. He opened a cupboard and withdrew linens and a small basket of assorted phials.

"Now, take these with you to the pools," he said, pushing the basket and linens into Glorfindel's arms, "the one in black marble is the hot pool and it is utterly _exquisite_ for relaxation – and when you've finished I'll have fresh robes waiting for you here. After you've dressed, that passage opposite leads back into the house. We shall be ready to eat by then. I'll leave a cool drink here on the dresser when I bring the robes. I most often enjoy that after a hot bath."

Erestor was about to bustle off again when Glorfindel spoke up. "Erestor, as much as I appreciate all this – and I do – I don't really need fresh things, I've only worn this tunic and leggings since morning, you needn't go to that trouble."

"Glorfindel," Erestor sighed, "while I am practically certain that dressing to dinner went out of fashion in Imladris approximately an hour after Elrond last departed the western borders, and while I am most definitely certain that you have seen changes in me you would have thought less likely than taking tea with a party of orcs, there are a few things that I remain intractably old-fashioned about. I will bring you robes, and if you wish to leave them when you depart that is your prerogative, but I always have something suitable available for guests who hadn't planned on stopping for supper."

Glorfindel couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "It _is_ good to see you again, my friend. Your hospitality is no less generous than ever it was. Thank you. I will be prompt for supper," he promised.

Erestor simply nodded and left via the door he'd indicated as going back inside the house proper.

Once Glorfindel had enjoyed ablutions in the beautiful private bathing house (Erestor had not exaggerated the exquisiteness of that hot pool!) he went back to the dressing to find Erestor had left a set of pale green silken robes embroidered all-over with golden thread. On the dressing table, beside a comb and set of golden braid clasps set with green stones, sat a crystal cup of an aromatic cordial with sliced strawberries.

For a moment, Glorfindel just stood there thinking how much he had missed having a friend who fussed over these little details so. Erestor's guess was correct when he'd said that many of the old formalities had departed Imladris with the departure of the Ring-bearers. Most often when he took a meal with the twins and Lord Celeborn, they were all attired in whatever they'd worn since that morning – no one dressed to dinner and most sported only the simplest, most practical of braids. Erestor would have come all over in splotches at the very notion and wondered that they didn't just all dine around a campfire like a lot of Woodelves.

Having attired himself to what he was sure would be an acceptable level, Glorfindel followed the passage back into the house and found himself in the same corridor that he had entered when he arrived. He passed the library and made for the dining hall where he found Lord Celebrimbor, now in robes of royal blue, pouring glasses of wine.

"Ah, welcome, Lord Glorfindel," Celebrimbor said, "come and sit. Erestor will be in momentarily with our meal."

"My thanks," Glorfindel said with a genuine version of the teasing bow Celebrimbor had given Erestor upon being directed to the kitchen.

"Please," Celebrimbor smiled, "while some things are formal here, others are not. Take your ease, you are amongst friends."

"Then I ask you to leave out my title as well. Unless Aman is very much different from the last time I saw these shores, lordship is something of a silly affectation here."

"You will be relieved to know, as am I, that has not changed," Celebrimbor laughed, offering Glorfindel a glass of wine.

"I must beg your pardon," Glorfindel said, taking a sip, "but it had rather sounded like Erestor was meaning to cook our meal himself. Am I much mistaken? I never before saw him enter a kitchen unless to do battle with the chefs."

Celebrimbor laughed again. "Oh, no, you are not mistaken! My husband cooks often, and well. I am extremely fortunate, in many ways. You see, living outside the city and a bit off on our own… well, things are so different to how they were in our old cities. Here it is just he and I, no cooks or maids or grooms or gardeners."

"I never imagined our counselor to be so… self-sufficient," Glorfindel said.

"Oh, he is, very much. He runs a tight ship, as the Teleri say," Celebrimbor grinned. Then he turned rather serious. "I have much to thank you for, Glorfindel. Erestor has said that while he dwelt in Imladris you were a dear friend to him. It was one of my worst fears when I faced death that he should have to face the world alone, especially when I learned that magic of my working was so strong as to preserve his life against the rending of our united fëar."

Glorfindel dipped his head in acknowledgment and followed to take a seat at the table with Celebrimbor. "It is true that Erestor took into his confidence very few. I think perhaps only myself, Elrond, and King Gil-galad knew the extent of his loss, and I think fewer still ever considered that grief unfathomable was the root of his oft… well… he could, at times, be somewhat on the... sharp side."

"That might well have been the case, but, believe me, that sharpness was not wholly born of our separation," Celebrimbor said with a slight smirk. "I do know, though, that he had grown very cheerless through the years, and that saddens me. As you see him now is how I knew him in Eregion – happy and easy of heart, quick to laugh and even quicker to riposte, and so, so stubborn. Do you know – those three damned rings I fashioned? I would have destroyed them myself in a heartbeat, but that I had hoped they might be of use one day. But when I grew truly afraid that war would soon be upon Eregion, I sent – begged, truly – Erestor to take them where they would be safe and hidden. It was nothing but an excuse. I cared nothing for those rings. It was he I meant to keep safe, but I knew he would never have accepted that without my insisting that the rings had to be kept safe."

"You did as you had to, as do we all in such times. But to see him now," Glorfindel smiled, "to see how happy he is…. You both endured much, but, come new days, and here we are, and all of our suffering and sorrows have been duly recompensed."

"You speak wisely," Celebrimbor nodded. "But, come, let us talk of happier things. Eres said that you would be visiting another friend after dining with us. Someone you knew of old?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye. Ecthelion of Gondolin. He and I were the dearest of friends in that city."

"Oh yes, I have spoken with him many times. He is quite an accomplished musician. We are often entertained by him, along with Elrond or some of the other harpers, during days of festival. Your compatriot Rog the smith has often worked with me as well."

"I've heard that he, too, did very valiant service in the last hours of our fight against the hosts of Morgoth. I shall be glad to meet with my fellows once again. Are there many others from Gondolin dwelling at Tirion?" Glorfindel asked.

"A number. Though, it seems there are some who… have yet to join those of us who abide east of the mountains," Celebrimbor said.

Glorfindel needed no clarification of that statement. The fate of Gondolin had, after all, been sealed from within as much as from without and some of his own comrades-in-arms had proved craven and treacherous when met with battle.

"I do hope the two of you haven't decided to rehash all your gruesome war stories at my table," Erestor said sternly as he appeared from a side door with a large platter, laden with a one side of a large pink fish, covered in finely chopped green nuts, surrounded by roasted potatoes and vegetables, all sat on a bed of grain.

"Never, my dear one," Celebrimbor vowed, catching Erestor's hand and kissing it after he set the tray upon the table. "Thank you. This all looks exceptional. You have outdone yourself once again."

"I do my best," Erestor smirked, sitting beside Celebrimbor and opposite Glorfindel. "Now, no ceremony. Eat well, my good lords."

"Tell me, Glorfindel," Celebrimbor said as they helped themselves, "you must surely have travelled here with others, but most of us had rather thought that the arrival of Círdan, Celeborn, and Master Gamgee was the last we were to see."

"One would be forgiven for thinking so," Glorfindel said. "In truth, I only delayed as long as I did because I had the word of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen that he would be constructing a ship and sailing after the death of our Estel. It gave me some more time to counsel Elrond's sons to come as well."

"Prince of Eryn Lasgalen?" Celebrimbor said hesitantly with a subtle glance in Erestor's direction.

Erestor couldn't help laughing. "There is a new Prince since the Second Age, my love. And he's a decent Elfling, really. Appreciates the wider world a bit more than Oropherion."

"I'd be lying if I said that was not a relief," Celebrimbor said. "Apologies, Glorfindel, it was not my intention to cast aspersions. Only, it was Thranduil I knew as Prince of the Greenwood and we had our clashes at times. He was not often very genial to some of my honoured guests of the Gonnhirrim."

"Aye. Little has changed in that regard. But I think you will find that not at all the case with Legolas Thranduilion," Glorfindel said. "As it happens, the fifth member of our band of travellers was his fast friend, Gimli of the Line of Durin."

Erestor and Celebrimbor both looked up at Glorfindel in astonishment.

"The Line of Durin!" Celebrimbor murmured.

"Speak you truly?" Erestor said. "Now I know these are changed days!"

Glorfindel just nodded. "I think Eldamar has never seen so many different peoples. How fare the Periain?"

Erestor sighed, guessing it was his turn to bear unhappy news. "Our dear old Bilbo went to his long sleep several years after we arrived here. He did leave a proliferation of writing in my care, though. All the in the library, naturally. Frodo outlived him by some margin – he passed some ten years ago. Samwise, however, is still among us. He dwells in the House of Elrond and Celebrían. The strawberries in your dressing drink were from his garden."

"Gardener to the last," Glorfindel said fondly. "Well, I mustn't leave it long till I visit Elrond, of course, and then I shall thank the valiant gardener for those berries. Though I think I shall let the family be reunited for a time before I do."

"Aye, make your visit to Ecthelion, first," Erestor said with a knowing smile that either escaped Glorfindel's notice or was willfully ignored.

…

Later that night, Erestor and Celebrimbor settled into one another's arms to take their repose for the night, as always they did. Erestor pressed a kiss to Celebrimbor's neck as he rested his head upon Celebrimbor's broad, strong shoulder. Celebrimbor carded his fingers through Erestor's long, silky hair.

"I'm glad your old friend has come to join us at least," Celebrimbor said.

"As am I," Erestor nodded. "And I will be glad to Elrond's sons again, as well."

"It had taken all of these days for the Noldori to truly know peace," Celebrimbor mused.

"Lasting peace, aye. For my part, I knew peace when first you held me in your arms, my noble smith."

Celebrimbor pulled Erestor closer and held him tightly. "You were the first peace I ever knew, too, my learned scribe," he whispered against Erestor's ear.

"Think you Ecthelion shall be amenable to Glorfindel's attentions?" Erestor said with an amused smile.

Celebrimbor just laughed. "I'm sure of it. Once Glorfindel realises he fancies our skillful flautist, that is."

Erestor snickered soft. "Ai, I am relieved we never danced so round one another!"

"Eres, though I may be no more than a simple smith, even I could not have misconstrued this love between us."

"You have always been much more than a simple smith," Erestor chided, "and not even I could have denied this, even with all my determination to remain detached."

"I'm glad you did not remain detached," Celebrimbor murmured, "for I am inextricably attached to you, beautiful counselor."

"I very much prefer being attached to you, too, my handsome lord," Erestor said. "Very much, indeed."


End file.
